Conversion

two manholes exploded in front of my work building this afternoon.  “you heard it?” the only guard who speaks to me at work asked me as i clocked out.  i did not nor did i feel the prodigious shaking of our building the way he recounted it to me.

picasso once said, “i do not read english; an english book is a blank book to me. this does not mean that the english language does not exist.“

the main entrance was quickly decommissioned; the only allowed egress was through the loading dock. from there, i could still see the manhole cover simmering meters away from the still smoking hole it used to plug. sirens filled the air. i kept on looking up the sky, like st.paul, terror-stricken of a coming conversion.